


The Oracle of Rhye

by AteYellowPaint



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (obvi), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, John is an oracle, Journey and Adventure, M/M, Roger is a prince, Sexual Tension, They are both beautiful, but also innocent and young love???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AteYellowPaint/pseuds/AteYellowPaint
Summary: When John, a talented young oracle of the Kingdom of Rhye prophesies an assassination plot against Prince Roger, heir to the throne, the two run away and embark on a journey to find safety and, perhaps, even a home.
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 32
Kudos: 24





	1. Conspiracy and Truth

**Author's Note:**

> What's this?? Pinky?? is writing FANTASY??? Y'all I never thought I'd see the day. I typically don't write fantasy and yet here I am what the hell. Anyway, this fic is brought to you by a plot bunny that hopped into my brain and absolutely refused to leave until I wrote it down. The entire story is outlined and I can't wait to share it with you!!

The oracle lazed on his bed of cushions; his long, brown hair fanned around him in a halo of waves against the rich purple, blue, and green pillows that rested beneath his head. Nothing was on his mind but the soft breath of the spring afternoon gently caressing his skin. The sheer red curtains that hung in the arched windows lifted off the ground and billowed towards him when a strong breeze blew through his chambers.

As the prince’s oracle, John enjoyed a luxurious place in the hierarchy of the palace, allowing him privileges such as an education, his own chambers, and a spot at the feasting table.

The sun was low in the sky and bathed the room in a golden light that warmed John’s skin against the cooling air. It was almost dinnertime. The palace was holding a feast tonight in honor of Prince Roger’s ceremonial transition from boyhood to man; though at only 21, John believed his prince’s features clung to the innocence of youth far too much to truly call him a man.

John observed the sun again. He couldn’t delay any longer and had to remove himself from his comfortable position to get dressed for the feast. He stretched his arms over his head and unfurled like a cat, arching his back and extending his legs with a pleasant sigh.

John clothed himself with a long, silk, forest green habit that stopped just above his ankles. He scooped his hair out of the robe and let it drape around the delicate golden embroidery along the neckline. He tied a white tassel rope low on his waist, gathering in the fabric of the gown so it draped and folded around his legs. He put bangles on his wrists and clasped delicate chains around his ankles. With just a touch of crushed red beetle powder to the high points of his cheeks, John was ready for the feast.

The wooden beads hanging in the archway clacked together as John exited his room. He quietly made his way through the labyrinth of the palace until he finally reached the grand stairs that would take him up to the great hall.

As he walked up the steps, the sounds of revelry grew louder. Music - the lilt of a harp and the blow of a horn and the beautiful melody of a talented soprano - drifted towards John; laughter rang out and voices were merry. Once John reached the top of the steps, he could see into the hall. A grand table was set and prepared for the feast that would follow. Palace guests were laughing and dancing across the floor, their clothes and jewels almost glowing under the candlelit lamps hung from the ceiling.

John walked along the wall and joined the king’s oracle and John’s mentor, Sybella. They exchanged their pleasantries and together observed the party until the feast was called.

At the head of the table sat King Miro. Atop his thinning blonde hair was a crown of gold fashioned to look like twigs sprouting from the top of his head. His royal blue velvet robe - meant to drape around him - looked like it was straining to hold together at the seams. John felt bad for the royal tailor who would soon be in for making yet another wardrobe for the king.

Next at the table was Prince Roger and his younger sister, Princess Clare. Princess Clare had silken gold hair let down to her waist. It flowed around her magnificent silver dress with beaded gold and silver leaves covering the entire gown. She wore a simple silver tiara that looked like vines entwining each other. Although Princess Clare was said to be the fairest, John believed that title should be held for his prince.

With sandy blonde hair that fell just past his shoulders, shining blue eyes, and a bright smile, John had never seen such beauty; aside, perhaps, from the blazing sunset of the summer equinox. Prince Roger wore a crown of golden flowers that circled his hair and made him look more like a nymph than a man. He wore a yellow taffeta shirt with buttons made of rubies and a red velvet blazer with golden trim. The whole ensemble gave him the appearance of a sun god. Maybe he was more beautiful than that blazing sunset.

John and Sybella sat across from each other further down the table from the royal family. They enjoyed the lovely feast, though their portions were smaller than the others and their wine goblets were filled with water. John ate in contemplative silence, for he had nothing to say and never enjoyed filling the air with meaningless chatter.

As the dinner wore on, the guests grew increasingly intoxicated and lively. John cast a glance towards his prince. His cheeks were rosy and he was laughing loudly at something his sister said, a sure sign that he was happily drunk on the wine he was served.

Prince Roger looked his way. When he met John’s eye, his smile seemed to grow wider and John couldn’t help but smile softly back. His prince’s eyes were so full of kindness and joy and John knew one day he would make a great king. John was certainly proud to serve him and looked forward to years as his loyal council.

***

After the feast, the celebration continued and the guests got up to resume their dancing. John took his leave from Sybella to make a visit to the toilet room.

The corridor was dim in the nighttime, lit only by a path of standing candelabras placed beside each large stain-glass window that lined the hall. Although there was no light outside to cast the glass in their glorious colors, John always loved how they looked under the candle light - their colors muted, but no less beautiful. John took his time on the way back to the great hall, running his hands over the cool glass of the windows.

“But, Papa, you said it would already be done.”

John stopped at the sound of Princess Clare’s voice. 

“Patience, my sweet,” he heard King Miro say.

John flattened himself against the wall. He always feared King Miro and did his best to avoid him whenever possible.

“You promised it to me,” the princess said.

“And you will receive it.”

“When?”

John knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but eavesdrop. It was risky, for they were right around the corner and getting caught would mean tortuous punishment, but John’s skin prickled and something about their voices told him to listen.

“We must take care of your brother first.” John stopped himself from sucking in a sharp breath at the king’s words. He pressed himself even closer to the wall. “A few more sleeps and it will all be yours.”

“Yes, papa.”

“Let us go back to the party, my child.”

John heard their footsteps retreat and he let out the breath he was holding. Every hair on his body stood on end at the conversation he just overheard. He tried to shake it off, surely he was taking things out of context; but something about it all - the hushed voices, the cryptic words - shook John to his core.

John waited a few more minutes before carefully peeking around the corner. Seeing no one, he walked down the corridor and rejoined the party.

He took a seat in front of the large fireplace and looked around the great hall, trying to convince himself that nothing was wrong. The princess was twirling madly around with her dance partner and the king laughed with a group of companions, the darkness John heard in their voices written nowhere on their features. Prince Roger was happily flirting with the soprano, trying to tempt her away from the stage. John almost let himself relax, but that’s when he saw it.

King Miro broke away from his group to speak with someone on the edge of the crowd. John watched as they conspired together, flickering their eyes towards Prince Roger the entire time. Something twisted deep in John’s gut as his well-trained intuition told him something was terribly wrong.

***

John stayed at the party for an acceptable amount of time to avoid harboring suspicion. Once he deemed it late enough that no one would notice his absence, he slipped out of the party and quickly made it back to his chambers.

He tore through the beaded curtains but froze once he made it inside. On his windowsill perched three black crows all in a row. John’s breath caught in his throat. The birds looked at him and he looked at them until finally, one by one they silently flew off into the night.

The omen of death.

John had to stabilize himself against his table. Panic flashed through him as his mind ran through a thousand scenarios, all ending with his prince in irreparable danger. He knew he had to warn Prince Roger, but of what, he didn’t know.

John needed to hold a ritual; he needed to access his visions. But at only 19 years old, he was not yet allowed to hold a ritual without Sybella and he didn’t know if he could trust her. She was the king's council and may have been involved in whatever evil the king had on his mind.

He needed to do it by himself.

***

John waited until midnight when the palace was quiet and sleep took over the intoxicated partygoers. He slipped out of his chambers once again and treaded silently through the palace down to the ritual room.

He entered the bathhouse first. The glass ceiling let the full moon shine inside. The pale light bounced softly against the water and created ripples of light against the shiny blue tiles that made up the walls and the floor.

John’s heart beat in his chest as he disrobed, for getting caught here would mean excommunication for insubordination. He hid his habit behind a stone bench and padded to the edge of the pool. He walked slowly down the steps as the warm water lapped around his ankles, then his knees, then his hips, until finally it was at his waist. He waded to the center of the pool; every ripple of the water sounded impossibly loud as they echoed off of the tile.

Once the water stilled around him, he held his breath and sank himself completely underwater, sitting at the bottom of the shallow pool so the water completely covered him. The act washed away any miasma that may have made him unappealing to the goddess who aided their prophecies. When he came back up, he wiped his eyes and wrung out his hair into the water. He exited the pool as slowly as he entered and then quickly dried off with a towel made of white cotton before walking to the dressing room.

The dressing room was a small, windowless room right off of the bathhouse. It housed all of the garments, jewelry, and oils that made the oracles worthy of appearing before the goddess. John quickly lit a few candles before dropping down the heavy, green velvet curtains to the dressing room.

John took his ritual garment off of its hook on the wall. It was a simple length of luxurious blood-red fabric that he wrapped expertly around his hips and finished off with a knot that looked almost like a rose. The fabric came down mid-thigh, covering his modesty while still making him vulnerable before the goddess.

He stood in front of the looking glass as he adorned himself with his jewelry. He clasped a thin gold chain around his neck and another around his waist, both of which were connected with a matching chain that ran up his sternum. Next, he slipped on a golden arm band that coiled around in the shape of a snake; it had two ruby eyes and scales etched out in intricate patterns over the body. Finally, he put on three rings. On his right hand, a simple gold band and another with an uncut garnet. On his left, a large gold ring with the face of a lion etched into it - his sacred zodiac. This was the first piece of ritual jewelry he was ever given; it served as his connection to the stars in the heavens and his sight into the unknown.

He slipped on leather sandals that caged up his calf and sat at the small table for the final step. He rubbed rosemary oil into his wrists, down his neck, and across his collarbones. The scent was one known to please the goddess and enhance prophetic ability.

Once John’s preparations were complete, he exited the dressing room and slipped into the ritual room, closing the heavy wooden door behind him. He had never done the ritual alone before, but he had been training under Sybella since he was five years old and took part in the rituals since he was ten. He knew it all by heart.

The walls of the round room were covered in rich red fabric embroidered with prayers in a language long dead. Pillows and cushions covered the floor and circled around a stone bowl that rested atop a octogonal cabinet. The ceiling was open at the center right above the bowl so the goddess could enter the space and commune with the oracles.

John lit the lamps that swung from the walls and knelt down in front of the bowl. He took a few breaths, trying to calm his shaking hands. Every fibre of his being screamed at him not to do this, told him he would get caught; but his loyalty to his prince outweighed all logic. He forced his hands to still.

He opened the cabinet beneath the bowl and withdrew the ritual supplies. He carefully placed a cone of frankincense incense in the center of the stone bowl and lit it as his offering to the goddess. His damp hair clung to his back when he bowed his head as the fragrant smoke wafted around the room. 

Next, he prepared his opium pipe. He smoked from the pipe and allowed its effects to take hold on his body. It was only when his head felt heavy, yet free that he began his prayer.

“I call unto you, Goddess Layla, Mother of night and knowledge unknown,” John spoke into the open night sky. “Aid me tonight as I pierce the veil, let me see truth, let me see truth, let me see truth…”

John continued to chant as he closed his eyes and swayed back and forth, but try as he might, he could not slip into his trance. His only vision was the darkness behind his eyelids.

He tried again, opening his eyes and calling his prayer to the moon. He chanted, raised his arms, prostrated himself; anything to beseech the goddess, but nothing came.

Finally, in an act of desperation, he broke from the ritual, gripped the edge of the bowl, and cried out, “Please help me, Mother Layla. I believe my prince is in grave danger.”

Before he could comprehend or even close his eyes, he was overwhelmed with a vision. The shock of it knocked him to his side. He instinctively caught himself on his elbows before his face hit the cushions, but he was unaware that he had moved at all. His open eyes flicked back and forth, but he didn’t see the cushions in front of his face.

Instead, he saw Prince Roger; bruised and bloodied, tied to a chair in a dark room. He was screaming as someone John recognized from the palace roughly cut off his hair and left deep scratches on his scalp with the knife. John tried to run towards him, but he couldn’t; he was immobile.

Then, the vision changed and he watched as two men dragged his prince down the corridor of the palace cellar. He was limp and unconscious in their arms, but whether it was from pain or exhaustion, John didn’t know.

He didn’t have a chance to catch his breath before the next sight was presented to him. Prince Roger was thrown in a windowless room in the cellar. King Miro stood above his son’s broken body, eyes as blank as the dead, before he walked out and left his son there to starve. John tried to cry out, but he couldn’t produce a sound.

Then, King Miro stood in front of the court and announced his son’s terrible and wretched bout of madness. He claimed Prince Roger had taken his own life in the midst of a fit and announced Princess Clare as the new heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Rhye.

The last vision was the worst of all. John stood in the cellar next to his prince’s stiff and lifeless body, gaunt and colorless and filthy, curled into himself in a fetal position. He was forced to watch as his body turned gray and bloated, watch as rats and roaches came to feast on the forgotten prince’s remains. His beautiful prince, reduced to a stain on the stone floor.

***

When the vision cleared and John came to, his dinner rose up in his throat and spilled out on the cushions below him before he could stop it. The undigested food burned and choked John as his stomach emptied itself of the bread and meat and fruit that John had consumed mere hours earlier.

John shakily pushed himself up on his hands and away from the sick as he caught his breath. He looked up at the sky. The vision felt like hours, but the moon hadn’t moved at all, so it could only have been minutes that he was under.

John tried to stand, but his legs gave out and he collapsed back into the cushions. He took a sip from a jar of water and washed out his mouth, not even caring that it was holy water meant for anointing, and willed his heart to stop racing.

Never in his life did he receive a vision so powerful. They usually came to him in images and passing feelings that he was meant to puzzle together into a prophecy. But tonight, everything felt so real, like it was happening right in front of him.

King Miro was going to murder his son. And judging by what John had witnessed earlier in the night, the plan was already in motion.

Finally, John found the strength to stand. He stumbled back into the bathhouse without bothering to close the ritual or change out of his ritual garments. He walked his hands along the wall as he made his way back towards the entrance. He collapsed onto the cool tile for only a moment to gather his energy before he pushed off of the wall and slipped back into the corridor with only one thing on his mind.

He had to warn his prince.


	2. Don't Look Back

John stopped short once he made it to the ornate doors of Prince Roger’s chambers. He gripped the large brass handle and willed himself to turn it, stuffing down that little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Sybella telling him to remember his place. He shook out his hand and gripped the doorknob again, turning it before he had a chance to let his fear dissuade him completely.

John quietly closed the door behind him. He took a moment to adjust to the soft darkness of the room and gather his bearings. It looked exactly how John remembered.

Across the large room, the light of the full moon filtered in through the open archways that led to the prince’s private balcony. The gauzy white curtains fluttered in the night breeze and almost looked like apparitions as they caught the light. Beyond the curtains, he could catch a glimpse of the treetops of the Forgotten Forest; the forest that tempted his flights of fancy many times.

To the wall on his left was a grand marble fireplace, a vanity, and a wardrobe made of mahogany. John remembered how impossibly large the wardrobe seemed when he was a child; when he and Prince Roger used to stow away inside, giggling as they hid from the prince’s governess or from Sybella. Now, it was just a wardrobe.

In the corner were the prince’s violin and guitar. Every respectable noble person needed to have a proficiency in music. The violin was at King Miro’s behest. John knew that because he knew how much his prince detested the thing - he much preferred the guitar, but that was an instrument deemed too simple by the king.

Underfoot was a large woven rug of brilliant reds and yellows and oranges. It was the rug he and his prince had played Mancala on countless times growing up. That was, until King Miro had found them playing one day and threw John out, screaming that while John was an oracle, he was still a servant and needed to learn his place. That was almost a decade ago. He hadn’t stepped foot in the prince’s room since. 

John’s heart pounded in his ears, filling his head with an erratic rhythm that drowned out the sounds of the night as he quietly approached the large canopy bed. In the center of the bed, Prince Roger lay curled on his side, buried underneath a pile of blankets. Only his head and the top of his bare shoulder were visible. The pale light just barely illuminated his soft features, made even softer in the arms of a deep sleep.

John hesitated at the side of the bed. His prince was alive. His prince was alive and sleeping peacefully. With the sight before him, John could almost pretend that his vision was just some horrifying hallucination, that he was being silly and rash. He could almost convince himself to leave, slip out as quietly as he came.

But he didn’t.

Because he knew it was real. Mother Layla had answered his prayer; she opened his Eye and showed him the truth.

The burn of stomach acid rose in his throat again as the lingering images of his vision tore across his mind. It finally spurred him into action. He quickly swallowed down the sick and climbed onto the bed to wake the prince.

“My prince,” John whispered, gently shaking the prince’s shoulder. “My prince, please wake up.”

Roger stirred slightly, pulling his shoulder and rolling onto his front as he instinctively tried to move away from whatever was disturbing his sleep. The movement forced John to crawl further onto the bed and he shook the sleeping man with more intent.

“Please wake up,” John said a little louder. “Please, it’s urgent.”

John’s panic started to translate in his movements. His damp hair fell around his face as he hovered over the stubbornly sleeping figure. His voice became louder as he called for his prince until finally, Roger rolled onto his back and blinked his eyes up at John. Confusion colored his features as he focused on John’s face.

“John?” Roger asked, his voice dark with sleep.

Roger sat up against his pillows and John leaned back, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. Roger ran his hand through his mussed up hair as the bedsheets fell to reveal his unclothed torso. John’s eyes went wide as he realized just how inappropriate this was.

“Please forgive me, my prince.” John scrambled off of the bed and quickly bowed his head. “I needed to speak with you immediately. It-it’s dire.”

“In the middle of the night?” Roger coughed away the croak in his voice. “In my chambers?”

“Yes.”

John looked back into his prince’s eyes and saw as his annoyance gave way to concern.

“Well, go on,” Roger said.

John opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He had been in such a rush to tell the prince what he saw that he hadn’t actually thought out  _ how _ he would tell the prince about his vision.

“John.” Roger’s voice was low and warning. “You know you shouldn’t--”

“I held a ritual.” John quickly interrupted the prince. “I saw something at the party tonight. It felt wrong and I held a ritual to figure it out.”

His words came tumbling out like a confession rather than a reading, but he couldn’t stop. Before Roger could open his mouth to say anything, John continued.

“There’s an assissination attempt on you. I saw it. We need to leave,” John said, “We need to leave now. That’s why I came in here. You’re in danger, my prince, we need to leave--”

“John, slow down,” Roger said, “We don’t need to leave.”

“Yes, we do!” John couldn’t even care that his voice came out sounding like a petulant child.

“John, I’m not running away, that’s ridiculous.” Roger laughed humorlessly.

John watched in panic as his prince’s features turned back into annoyance. “You don’t understand--”

“If there really  _ is _ an assassination plot against me,” Roger said, raising his voice and waving his hand to cut John off, “then we need to tell my father.” 

“Your father is the one who ordered it.”

That got his prince’s attention.

“What?”

“Your father ordered it,” John said softly, leaning up on the bed to get closer to his prince in a plea for him to listen. “I saw it all. He’s going to claim you went mad. He’s going to throw you in a cellar and let you starve to death while he proclaims your insanity to the kingdom and declares your sister next in line for the throne.”

“No,” Roger said, the color gone from his face.

“Yes.” Without a second thought, John climbed back onto the bed and knelt in front of the prince. “I heard King Miro and Princess Clare speaking in the hall earlier tonight. It’s what made me hold the ritual. We must leave before the sun comes up. I fear if we wait any longer, I won’t be able to save you.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Roger asked. The sleep was gone from his eyes completely and replaced with fear.

“My prince, when have my prophecies ever been wrong?”

Roger’s breath caught and he looked away. They both knew the answer. All of John’s prophecies had come to pass, it was the reason he was named the prince’s oracle at such a young age.

“You have to be wrong,” Roger whispered.

“I watched you rot,” John spat out and Roger shut his mouth. Tears stung the back of John’s eyes, but he was too worked up to try and hold them back. “I had to stand there and watch your body decay on the cellar floor. No one came for you. No one performed your last rites - you weren’t even given the decency of an afterlife. I had to watch as vermin ate the graying meat off your bones, as beetles crawled out of your eyes. I-- My prince, I could  _ smell _ it.”

John grabbed his prince’s hands and kissed them in an act of humility and desperation. When he looked back into his prince’s wide eyes, the tears finally spilled out of his own.

“It was real.” John’s voice cracked. “I swear to you, it was real. If you stay here, you will be murdered at the hands of your own father. The plan is already set. There’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. We must leave and we must do it  _ now _ .”

John felt his prince tighten his grip in his hands. He nodded dumbly; his eyes wide as the weight of John’s words finally took their hold. John climbed off of the bed again and Roger followed, throwing off the heavy blanket and scooting out.

John tensed and turned his back when he saw that his prince was only wearing a thin pair of cotton underpants. His cheeks burned at having seen his prince in such an indecent state.

He heard the creak of the wardrobe door followed by some quiet rustling. John fiddled with the thin chain running down his chest and studied the large painting of the Seventh Sea above the prince’s bed as his prince got dressed. He figured he should make himself useful, so he lit the small oil lamp on the prince’s nightstand so they would have something to aid their way.

“What do we need?” The prince’s raspy voice cut through the silence and caused John to jump.

When John turned back around, his prince was thankfully fully dressed. He wore a simple pair of tan trousers, a loose white cotton button down, and a pair of worn leather boots. He had a leather bag slung over his shoulder in which he was throwing random pieces of jewelry from his vanity and a cloak made of a camel-colored wool draped over his arm. The ensemble was much less ornate than the prince’s normal attire, but no less beautiful.

“I don’t know,” John said. “I… I’ve never run away before.”

“Neither have I,” Roger said, handing the bag to John before he put on his cloak. The red satin lining flashed as he threw the cloak over his shoulders and buttoned it at his neck. He put his arms through the holes in the sides and clutched the front closed, eyes darting around his dim room. “Where are we even going?”

“The forest.” John knew that much. He’d heard countless stories about the forest growing up. He knew it’s dangers, the horrific tales told to scare children away from its enticing call, but he also knew it was the only way out to the other cities and villages beyond the capital, places where they could slip by unnoticed until they found a place to stay.

“And after that?” Roger asked.

John walked to the prince’s balcony. He stood under an archway and looked out at the line of trees that sat just beyond the palace garden. 

“Away,” John said.

“Away?” his prince’s voice came from behind him.

“Yes.”

“So that’s your plan?” Roger asked indignantly. “We’re meant to walk in the woods and hope we find shelter before we starve.”

“Trust me,” John said, turning back to his prince. He was much closer than before; close enough that his features caught the warm light of the oil lamp John held. “You’ll fare much better in the woods.”

Roger hummed and bit the inside of his cheek. He looked beyond John to the trees. An internal battle seemed to wage inside.

John knew what he was asking of the prince. Just a few hours ago the prince was laughing along with his sister’s jokes, and just a few minutes ago he was told she was a participant in a plan to have him dead. Just a few hours ago he was at a party meant to celebrate his future as king of Rhye, and now he was being told to leave everything behind on John’s word alone.

“My prince, I have never steered you wrong and I don’t intend to start now,” John said softly. “I’m putting myself in danger as well. If we get caught, I will be tortured much worse than either of us could ever imagine. I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t sure.”

“Why are you helping me, then?” Roger crossed his arms. “If it’s so risky for you?”

John felt heat prickle up his neck to his cheeks.

“That’s a stupid question,” John said, moving past his prince back into the bedroom.

“Answer it, then,” the prince called, stopping John in his tracks.

John gripped onto the strap of the bag and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s my vocation.”

“That’s the only reason?” 

John dared to look over his shoulder at his prince. His arms were still crossed and his head was cocked to the side. For a moment, John could almost see his childhood friend hidden beneath the prince standing before him now.

“We need food,” John said, ignoring his prince’s question to answer the original one. “Follow me.”

Roger searched his eyes for a moment before he simply nodded and followed John as he went back to the door. John held his hand out to keep his prince from going any further while he cracked the door open and peeked into the corridor. Seeing no one, he opened the door and ushered the prince through. He closed it softly and led the prince through the silent halls of the palace, spying around every corner and jumping at every creak.

Finally, they made it to the door that led down the service stairs to the kitchen. John was about to reach for the door when to his horror, the handle began to turn on its own.

John grabbed his prince’s arm. He pulled him into a small alcove in the wall. Roger quickly turned down the knob on the lamp in John’s hand. They both flicked their eyes between the opening door and the slowly dimming flame. The light extinguished and the two hid deeper in the shadows, pressed chest to chest as John still held his prince’s arm in an effort to shield him from whoever was walking their way.

Princess Clare, of all people, appeared through the doorway. Her long nightgown, pigtail braids, and the large piece of leftover cake she had that she clearly smuggled from the kitchen made her look so childlike that it scared John even more to know what was hidden beneath.

John heard his prince softly gasp, so he quickly removed his hand from his arm and put it over his prince’s mouth. He froze as Princess Clare narrowed her eyes and looked around. Only the shadows concealed them, and John knew that if she looked hard enough, they would be discovered. He could feel his prince’s breath come out in quick pants, the air hot against John’s hand as his prince’s panic escaped through his nose. John’s own breath was still, his lungs seized with fear and unwilling to take in any air.

After what seemed like an eternity, Princess Clare finally shook her head and began her journey back to her room. John let out a breath and took his hand off of his prince’s mouth once her footsteps faded into nothing.

John extracted himself from the tight space and checked the hall before he opened the door to the stairs. It was dark; pitch black by the time the door closed behind them.

They stuck close to the wall, their hands running along the rough stone surface as they slowly went down the spiral staircase. The only evidence that his prince was still behind him were his footsteps, amplified in the echoey stairwell.

“How much longer?” Roger whispered.

“I don’t know,” John said. It felt like they had been walking for ages, down and down in an eternal circle as they made slow and steady work towards the bottom, though it seemed like the bottom would never come.

“I’m getting dizzy,” Roger complained.

John had to hold back a giggle. “I’m sure we’re almost there.”

Luckily, he was able to keep true to his word. For soon light began to break through the darkness. At first, John thought he was just adjusting to the dark, but the steps before him became clearer and clearer until they finally made it into the kitchen. The moonlight filtered in through the line of thin windows along the top of the wall.

John put down the useless lamp and began to look around. He had only been down here a couple of times in his life and didn’t know where anything was. He started with the fruit basket in the middle of the large kitchen bench, throwing some apples into the bag. Then, he threw open cupboards and cabinets only to find pots and pans and spices and dried beans. Of course the prepared food was in the last place he looked. He opened a cabinet to find it stocked with the leftover bread and pastries from the party. He took out a few loaves of bread and stuffed them into the bag.

When he turned around, he found the prince had disappeared. Panic flashed through him and for a moment, he wondered if his prince had left to turn him in to the king. But before his thoughts could run away, his prince reappeared through a door holding a dark-green glass bottle that John recognized as the palace’s summer wine.

“I don’t think that counts as a necessary provision,” John said on an exhale, his relief palpable in his voice.

“It’s always necessary,” Roger said with a wink.

He didn’t wait for John to take it and shoved it into the bag himself, yanking down John’s shoulder as he did so. John could only hope that he didn’t squash the bread.

John, ever the sensible one, grabbed a water bladder and added it to their supplies.

He raked his eyes over the kitchen, looking for anything else that could aid them on their journey to… well, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that anywhere was safer than here. He turned around and saw his prince pulling knives out of the block. He inspected each one until he settled on a large utility knife and handed it to John.

“In case we run into any ogres,” Roger joked.

“Ogres don’t exist,” John said, but took the knife anyway. He found a scrap of kitchen cloth and wrapped it around the blade before he put it at the bottom of the bag.

“Mercenaries, then.”

John huffed a small noise of amusement and shifted the bag on his shoulder. “I… I think we’re ready.”

A moment of fear flashed across the prince’s eyes before he stiffly nodded and gestured for John to lead the way. John led them out of the kitchen and into the grand palace courtyard. If he could just get them to the garden, they could slip into the forest, leaving no trail to find them.

As soon as they stepped outside, the chilly night air wrapped around them. It seemed to spiral up and around John’s legs, his torso, his arms, his damp hair. In the flurry of activity, he hadn’t even thought about his own clothes, but he was now painfully aware of his state of undress. He felt his cheeks burn as red as the singular piece of cloth wrapped around his hips and only hoped his prince couldn’t see his discomfort.

He wrapped his arms around himself as he led them through the shadows of the covered walkway. The only sounds in the night were their soft footsteps against the tile floor and the steady splash of water coming from the long fountain that ran down the center of the courtyard.

A large breeze blew through the courtyard, rustling the leaves on the tall trees that ate into the columns of the palace. Goosebumps rose on John’s arms and he couldn’t hold back a violent shiver as the wind whipped his hair off his neck.

He felt his prince’s warm hand on his arm, urging him to stop. John turned around to see his prince taking off his cloak.

“Here,” Roger whispered, holding out the cloak to John.

“Oh, no, thank you,” John mumbled as he tried to turn around and continue walking. He couldn’t take such a fine thing from the prince.

Roger grabbed John’s arm again. “John, take it.”

“I can’t,” John said, “You need it.”

“You need it more than me.”

John could feel more than see his prince’s pointed gaze over his thin frame. He held his arms tighter and shivered again, though the breeze no longer rustled the leaves. This only made the prince roll his eyes.

“As your prince, I order you to take the bloody coat,” Roger said, letting go of John’s arm and looking into his eyes.

John let out a shaky breath and cast his eyes down. “Yes, my prince.”

He took off the shoulder bag and set it down at his feet. He grabbed the cloak from his prince’s hand and carefully put it on. The satin felt luxurious against his bare skin. Even the wool was soft against John’s arms when he put them through the arm holes and picked up the bag. When he buttoned the cloak at his neck, his prince finally looked satisfied.

John smiled gratefully before ushering his prince to walk again.

***

They were almost out of the garden when they spotted him. Well, John heard him first. They were walking along the wild rose bushes when John heard a soft voice murmuring nearby. He grabbed his prince’s wrist and froze when he saw the owner of the voice.

There they were, out in the open with King Miro knelt underneath a willow tree not even meters away.

John had failed. He failed his prince. He broke his one promise to protect him. They didn’t even make it beyond the palace gates. All the king had to do was turn around and he would see them.

They needed to hide, but John couldn’t make his feet move. He just gripped his prince’s wrist tighter and tighter until he could feel his erratic pulse beneath his fingers.

Most of the king’s words were lost in the breeze, but it was clear he was in prayer. John could hear little phrases carry his way, utterances of “forgiveness” and “rebel” and “unfit.” The king began to move and John could feel the tears well up in his eyes for the second time that night. But the king didn’t turn around. Instead, his large form moved closer to the tree. He was hunched over, but John could see the glint of a blade before the king groaned and cast the knife aside, pressing his hand against the bark as blood ran down his arm and soaked into the tree.

The noise finally broke John from his daze and he turned to his prince. He looked equally terrified, but to John’s horror, his prince reached his arm out to his father - the man who raised him, cruel as he was. The man who betrayed him.

Then, the king began crying out, up the willow and towards the sky; giving his own blood in sacrifice for his evil deed to come.

He was in a trance.

He was distracted.

John pulled on his prince’s arm. He looked his prince dead in the eyes.

“Run.”

John didn’t give his prince a chance to argue. He set his eyes across the clearing.

And he ran.

He felt his prince stumble behind him, but he did not release his grip on his arm. He willed his eyes to stay trained ahead. If he looked back at the palace, at the life he was leaving behind, it would all be over. For he knew he was not  _ that _ strong.

His lungs burned. His legs ached. His prince’s breaths grew labored. The king’s cries grew distant. The treeline grew nearer.

And he never looked back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooo we going on a little adventure! I hope y'all liked this chapter, I had a lot of fun writing it <3

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all no lie I had a lot of fun writing in such descriptive verse. This is a big break from my usual writing style but I love it! I hope y'all did too :) Can't wait for y'all to see what happens next!


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